The Bunker's Next Top Model
by Random Ruth
Summary: Dean can't kick Cas out. Not wearing those clothes, are you nuts? Mild spoilers for 9.03 "I'm No Angel". Picks up right where the episode left off. One-shot.


**Author's Note:** This fic was inspired by a sentence from a text message when I was discussing the awesomeness of season nine with Ashley: "I'm surprised Sam and Dean haven't given [Castiel] a collection of plaid shirts yet." So this is all her fault. Spoilers, though mild ones, for 9.03 "I'm No Angel".

* * *

**The Bunker's Next Top Model**

* * *

"You can't stay," Dean said, looking a little apologetic.

Castiel swallowed his burrito without tasting it. "Why?" was all he managed to squeeze out past his suddenly tight throat.

"Because..." Dean hesitated, suddenly finding his hands fascinating. He sighed. "I can't do it. I just can't kick you out of the Bunker when you're wearing those clothes."

Cas blinked. He looked down at his t-shirt, under a shirt, which was under a hoodie. "What's wrong with them? I tried to copy you," he said, maybe a little defensively.

"Stand up," Dean ordered. Cas did, and Dean looked him up and down. He shook his head and Cas frowned. "No, no, that is not how Winchesters layer. Come with me." He was shaking his head as he grasped Castiel by the shoulders, steering him to his bedroom. Cas was growing more confused by the moment.

He didn't have time to take in the little room's décor before Dean had sat him down on the edge of the bed. Dean walked over to his wardrobe and pulled out a black t-shirt and a khaki shirt. He handed them to Cas. "Try these on."

While Cas changed, Dean turned his back. The t-shirt was only slightly baggy, and the shirt wasn't a bad fit either. "Okay," said Cas as he started buttoning the shirt up. Dean reached out and stilled his hands.

"Shirt open, Cas. Gotta let the chicks see the goods now you're human and all." He undid the buttons one by one. "What you were wearing before was too bright and colorful. For brooding you definitely need muted colors. Guys like us, we brood all the time. It's our thing."

Cas squinted at his reflection in the body-length mirror beside the wardrobe. "I... don't know," he said.

Dean slapped himself on the forehead. "Jewellery! That'll make you manly. I can't believe I forgot the jewellery." He went to the table beside his bed and dug around in a little box, pulling out a silver ring and some sort of chain necklace. Cas put them on. Dean stood back as far as he could in the small space with his hands on his hips. "There, perfect." He nodded to himself in satisfaction.

"Maybe a different shirt," Cas suggested quietly.

"Sure, if that's what you'd like. I've got a dull blue and mid grey." He held up said shirts and wiggled his eyebrows. "Huh?"

"How 'bout—_hic!_—you try this?" asked Kevin from the doorway, holding out a pink, frilly dress.

Castiel gulped.

Kevin swayed a little on the spot, the hand not holding the dress clasped around a beer bottle. "Where'd you even get that?" Dean asked.

The prophet narrowed his eyes blearily at the pink dress as if he hadn't known he was holding it. "I don't—_hic!_—know," he admitted finally.

"Right," said Dean, then he cleared his throat. "Why don't you go off to your room or somethin', yeah?" He gave Kevin a gentle nudge along the corridor. "Pink isn't really Cas' color."

While Dean had been dealing with Kevin, Cas had slipped his hoodie on over the khaki shirt. When Dean saw this, he folded his arms and shook his head, clicking his tongue. "No hoodies, Cas," he said.

Castiel was about to ask him why the heck not when Sam appeared in the doorway. "Why is Kevin in the kitchen sobbing into a pink dress?" he asked, taking in the scene. "And what are you doing?"

"I'm making Cas look nice and presentable before I kick him out of the bunker," Dean explained, sounding proud.

"What?" Sam spluttered.

"Yes, _thank you_, Sam," Cas said. "Dean, why are you kick—"

"You can't kick him out looking like that. Just wait here one moment," Sam said as if Cas had never spoken at all.

Cas sighed.

Dean grumbled something about stupid, interfering little brothers while they waited for Sam to come back. When he did he was carrying two duffel bags that looked full to bursting. They made an alarmingly loud noise when Sam dropped them to the floor.

"Aw, Sam, no," whined Dean with a grimace.

"Like you could be anyone's personal stylist, Dean – I mean, look what you've done to your own room!" said Sam.

Cas looked around and saw lots of guns on the walls. In the corner there were some guns. Beside his bed there was a framed photograph of a gun. For some reason there was also a gun in the trash.

Sam unzipped one of the bags and color practically exploded from it, so much so that Cas was momentarily blinded. He rummaged around in the plaid shirts until he found a blue one with streaks of yellow. "Try this one," he said, and both brothers turned their backs to Cas.

Cas bit his bottom lip to stop himself from shouting something horrible at them. After all, he didn't have many clothes, only those that were on his back, and these ones of Sam's did smell a lot nicer. Without a t-shirt, though, Cas was a lot colder.

"You button it up," Sam said when he turned back and saw a rectangle of exposed flesh, and Dean elbowed him none-to-gently in the ribs.

"Oh," said Cas. "But Dean said I've got to leave it open to 'let the chicks see the goods'."

"Ignore him, button up." Sam narrowly avoided a t-shirt to the face and he glared a Dean. "The trick is to have a really nice shirt and a warm jacket. And easy on the jewellery, okay?"

The shirt was quite big and the sleeves were far too long, covering Cas' hands and leaving only fingertips visible. Cas pulled off the necklace and the ring with a little sigh of relief. Sam clapped his hands together, pleased with himself. "You look great in that shirt, Cas," he said.

"He looks stupid," Dean grumbled.

"That's _my_ shirt, Dean."

"Exactly." Sam threw a green plaid shirt at him, but he dodged it with a cocky grin. "He needs more layers." Dean helped Cas into the green plaid shirt. "There. If he's gonna have to look stupid he might as well be layered up."

"No, no, that's just wrong," said Sam, tugging on one of the shirt sleeves. "Green doesn't go with royal blue, are you nuts, dude?"

Cas jerked as Dean pulled the sleeve on the other side. "He needs layers, Sammy, he's not a Winchester man if he doesn't have lots of layers."

Sam tugged on the sleeve again and scoffed. Cas tilted towards him. "So you think layers add to your manliness?"

"Hell, yeah!" Dean pulled Cas back to him.

At this point Sam threw a t-shirt at Dean, who dived for cover on one side of the bed, nearly taking Castiel down with him. Sam mirrored him on the other side, dragging one of his heavy duffels with him for ammunition. A yellow and orange plaid shirt went flying over the bed, and this was countered with a dark brown t-shirt.

"Layers do not equal manliness – they just make you look stupid!" Sam shouted.

"Yeah... well it keeps you warm in winter!" Dean called back.

Several shirts and t-shirts now littered Dean's bed, or no-man's land. Cas decided he'd had enough. "I'll just kick myself out, then, shall I?" he mumbled, grabbing his hoodie, his shirt and his t-shirt and making a run for it. The brothers didn't hear him leave over the sound of their own very important argument.

"That's not the point, Dean!"

"Then what _is_ the point?" He threw a grey shirt but Sam ducked it time and it hit one of the guns on the wall and flopped to the ground. "I don't see any point to your hair!"

There were a few tense, silent minutes.

"Aw, man, I'm so sorry," Dean said, standing up and walking around the bed to Sam's side. He pretended not to see the moisture in Sam's eyes. "That was a low blow." Sam stood too, and Dean pulled him in for a hug. "We good?"

Sam sniffed a little. "Yeah. We're good." Dean patted Sam on the back.

Dean surveyed the multi-colored carnage, but there was no ex-angel in sight. "Hey, where's Cas?"

* * *

**The End**


End file.
